Chapter 69: What Am I Supposed To Say After You’re Done?
“Feels like you’re typing away so rapidly, with absolutely no program effect at all…”
Qi Luo An’s complaint strongly resonated with the staff from the nearby camera team. In other reality shows experiencing civilian life, stars making jokes or enduring hardships are quite entertaining.
In a variety show, there has to be either drama or fun, right? Yu Wei, on the other hand, starts writing as soon as he gets on the program—no issue with that, just no watchability either.
If it were just a cat typing, the audience might take a couple more glances, but who’s never seen a person typing…
“So what should I do then?”
Now Yu Wei had something to say. Isn’t the program process just about experiencing and observing civilian guest life? A university student doing studies, him typing in the library—isn’t that perfectly normal?
Programs without a script are like this, relying entirely on guests to freely perform, which easily gets boring. Variety show scripts are like novel tropes—have them and the audience complains, don’t have them and it’s too bland.
The several photographers looked at each other, clearly stumped by Yu Wei’s question. Student daily life is just flat and plain—where do sudden program effects come from?
“How about this: this afternoon, we’ll go eat at the school canteen.”
Yu Wei still had a sense of responsibility. After all, it’s their program, so he had to cooperate when needed. No program effect? Then create some program effect.
Why the afternoon? Mainly because military training freshmen grab food too fiercely—Old Deng really can’t compete.
“It’s been eight hundred years since I last ate at a canteen. Of course, I’m not a rich girl.” Qi Luo An directly preempted Yu Wei’s teasing talking points, somewhat dissatisfied: “It’s both expensive and bad—we usually go next door to Teacher’s University to mooch meals.”
That terrifying, huh… Looks like underperforming college canteens really aren’t isolated cases.
Fast-forward to pumpkin stir-fried kiwi?
“Then we definitely have to go taste it. Let me, the scoring immortal, give your canteen a score.”
The camera team perked up at this—great, bad food is perfect, eating bad food easily creates program effect. Yu Wei clearly got it.
“I can tell, you’re truly a pro at eating hardships. Then I’ll risk my life to accompany the gentleman.”
The two went back to silently busying themselves with their own things. As time ticked by second by second, photographer Xiao Zhu finally couldn’t hold back and softly probed: “Your microfilm—is it already public now?”
They had specially reported this to the program team upon returning. The director wasn’t dumb and instantly saw the depth to dig into here.
Pay attention, must closely monitor it—best to involve more microfilm details in the program, then it’ll be first-hand information.
The publicity period had already started an hour ago, yet these two acted like nothing was up—Xiao Zhu was so anxious…
“Seems like it, but I’ve already watched the edited version many times, no need to watch it again, right?”
What’s fun about the publicity period? Don’t they know what their own submitted work is like? He’d checked this film frame by frame repeatedly—no issues.
“I watched it three times before submission.”
Qi Luo An clearly had no intention of watching it again either. Suspense plot gets boring after too many viewings—now for her, this film was only worth watching for Yu Wei’s abdominal muscles…
“Shouldn’t you guys chat about it, review it or something?”
To capture some effective information, Xiao Zhu was racking her brains—all for the program, not much relation to promotion and salary increase.
“What’s there to chat about?”
Qi Luo An got a headache just thinking about it. If the short film blows up, she’ll probably get “carried” again—keep going like this and she’ll really become a school celebrity.
“Cough cough, let’s talk during lunch later—go into detail.”
Yu Wei probably got the program team’s intent. Chat it is—might as well use the program opportunity to introduce the short film to everyone. In the novel, it was too metaphorical to avoid spoilers.
Xiao Zhu gratefully glanced at him. Teacher Yu is such a good guy—among all the stars he’s cooperated with, he’s absolutely the easiest to work with. Tears.
Yu Wei finished updating the new chapter at three in the afternoon. At this hour, the canteen was already mostly empty—of course, not much food left either.
He’d already decided on the chorus song. First, rule out lovey-dovey stuff—Yu Wei didn’t set a single persona, but nothing was going on between them, no need to dig a pit for himself.
Mixing in the entertainment industry, better to bind less with people…
Another point was the “music story” theme. Though the program team would turn a blind eye to original songs, he couldn’t completely ignore it.
Qi Luo An, a university student, was ten thousand miles from lotus pond moonlight ethnic styles—hard to make coherent.
After much thought, Yu Wei decided on an inspirational song. Everything can be positive energy—not just university students, even kindergarteners singing inspirational songs could work.
“Already off work?”
Entering the canteen, Yu Wei only saw a group of staff huddled in the corner chatting idly. Many tables hadn’t even been cleaned, all greasy and slick.
At the sight, several staff in white clothes shot up. Anyone could see the program team’s spectacle wasn’t simple—especially with Yu Wei, a living signboard, standing right there.
Many of them recognized Yu Wei. The internet’s reach is strong—someone like Yu Wei with built-in popularity is a self-media darling, easy to stumble upon online.
Letter sites analyze his music, music sites praise his experiences, Weibo reposts his raw photos, slow foot electronica covers his songs, video accounts tell parents his success is all from hardship, forums rationally discuss if he’s cjb…
These days, going viral across the whole net really means viral in each place. Platform users get what they want, only seeing content they like.
Can only say Yu Wei is already pretty popular, but lacks that unified recognition of him as a person.
After spotting the several cameras, the canteen staff’s service attitude jumped a level—even closed windows would whip something up for you.
Is this the store visiting blogger’s camera effect?
Yu Wei figured he wasn’t some inspection leader, so he casually ordered two bowls of hot and sour noodles. If good, he’d order a few more for the staff after they finished filming.
“Gotta say, it’s really more than usual.”
Qi Luo An muttered softly, picking up chopsticks for a shallow taste. Flavor was okay—not bad enough to be inedible, but truly not that great either. Cost-performance not as good as off-campus.
Yu Wei had no complaints, slurping the noodles happily. Memories of a week of five boxes of Baixiang dry-mix noodles were still fresh—what right did he have to be picky?
Back then he brainlessly dissolved the seasoning packet in water and suffered… Too much talk, all tears.
Yu Wei casually opened the video app, planning to pull up the short film to chat about, but the original film search came up, and the recommendation page had a glaring video.
“Yu Wei’s ‘Sound Mixer’ Ten-Thousand-Word Analysis!”
A ten-thousand-word analysis video just three hours in?
The first to invent ten-thousand-word analysis was absolutely a genius—deep analysis of film and television works, frame-by-frame breakdowns. Audiences who love deep commentary definitely eat it up.
But the copycats afterward were a bit ridiculous. Good films get ten-thousand-word analysis fine, but even bad films do—and later even game plots got them…
“Ten-thousand-word analysis—do you really understand XX?”
Seeing too many such titles leads to some aesthetic fatigue. Stories needing ten-thousand words to understand—are they even good?
The “Sound Mixer” original is just fourteen minutes, yet this analysis video is over an hour—unmatched.
What comforted Yu Wei though was that aside from lots of filler, this blogger’s analysis of the film was spot-on—whether suspense foreshadowing or metaphors, all explained clearly.
Finally didn’t forget to praise Yu Wei’s script construction and role design skills—acting at textbook level. When lies become instinct, truth has nowhere to escape; hypocritical “safety” is really the beginning of self-destruction.
You said your piece—what do I say?
Yu Wei had planned a light chat about the short film on the program, but these video bloggers were one after another diligent, explaining finer than the last—what was left for him to say? By the time this episode airs, the hype will be cold.
“Entered the publicity period, huh—not bad.”
Photographer Xiao Zhu had waited expectantly beside, but Yu Wei only managed this one sentence after half a day. Why would Teacher Yu fool us—he didn’t elaborate at all!
“Sound Mixer”‘s popularity was far higher than Yu Wei imagined. Perhaps because the program’s aftermath lingered, the short film became the perfect new outlet.
Just said Yu Wei’s acting sucked—post less than a day old—and out comes a short, tight plot production with impeccable acting in a short film.
Where do they even go to reason?
Boomerang still gotta fly a bit—Yu Wei doesn’t hold grudges overnight, settles them on the spot.
